


Elisions

by pseudocitrus



Series: Teacher/Student Human AU [6]
Category: Tokyo Ghoul, Tokyo Ghoul:re
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, F/M, Mutual Pining, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 14:25:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3653730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudocitrus/pseuds/pseudocitrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The many months that follow after Sasaki-sensei rejects Touka’s confession.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> aaaAAhhhhhHHH i still can’t shake neimana’s  teacher/student AU -drags hands down face- so…so have another thing inspired by it. ;w;
> 
> contains: teacher/[university ]student stuff, and hella pining.
> 
> hope you’re having a good day; enjoy!

It’s the coffee’s fault.

Haise stares down at the lukewarm drink in his hand. Just as in all previous days, it’s watery, and leaves a horrible taste in his mouth. Just as in all previous days, it’s nothing like hers.

It’s been another year now, if not more. (He glances at the calendar. Yes, it’s been more.) More than a year has passed, and he is sure there has not been one day when he’s been free from thoughts of what she’s doing, and whether she’s found someone else, and whether she is happy.

His eyes narrow. It’s all the fault of this office’s coffee machine, and its choking mediocrity.

 _I’m going to learn how to make it myself,_ he decides. It takes a week to find the specific brand of beans she used, and another week to retrieve all the proper instruments: a bean grinder, an espresso machine, a how-to book. After another couple weeks of practicing with one eye trained on the book, he extracts a flawless shot, and the taste is perfect, it’s almost exactly like hers had been, and he feels worse.

:::

His espresso machine gathers dust.

:::

But really, his everyday life is fine. Nothing to complain about, other than the fact that his mind wanders, a lot. In idle moments his hand doodles, and his coworkers look over his shoulders at his notes, and tease.

“Sasaki-san, you must like rabbits a lot, huh?”

“Not that much,” Haise replies dully, detailing a looping ear.

They laugh.

He doesn’t.

No one brings it up again.

:::

He reads, just a little more than he used to. The past months have had some pretty good book releases, and sinking himself into someone else’s words for a while is a welcome respite. He enjoys it, until he reaches the back cover, at which point he usually finds himself thinking, _She would love this, I should give this to —_

Ah. Right.

:::

But really. Everything is fine.

Every time that he suspects that it isn’t, he reminds himself that he did what was best for her.

:::

_What is she doing?_

_Has she found someone else?_

_Is she is happy?_

:::

One day, Rize calls.

“Hey, Haise. Kamii needs a guest lecturer tomorrow. Can you make it?”

Despite everything, his pulse picks up. _Kamii._ He could see her. He might see her. What does she look like now? Has she still been reading?

How is it possible for him to feel like this? Even after more than a year? Even after he all his rationalizations, and best wishes for her? How — _why_ —

He takes a breath, shakes his head vehemently. _Stop._

“I don’t know,” he says weakly, and Rize groans on the other side of the line.

“Come on, you can do it, it’ll be easy. Shuu was supposed to find someone but he fell through, as usual.”

“I did not!” Shuu yells in the background. “Kanae did his best but nothing could be done about it. It’s too last-minute. In any case, you were the one that made that promise!”

“And I’ll make it happen!” Rize shouts back, voice muffled in such a way that it’s obvious she’s cupping her hand over the phone receiver. She clears her throat and turns back.

“So? Could you? Don’t even bother saying you’re busy. I know it’s not true.”

“I’m sorry, Rize,” Haise replies quietly. “Normally I’d be happy to. But...”

But…what will happen to him if he sees her again? It had been hard enough to make himself leave her the first time.

 _She’s older now_ , some small voice whispers in his head, and he presses his palms against his forehead.

_It doesn’t change the age difference. It doesn’t change that I’m taking advantage of her. It doesn’t change the fact that I shouldn’t be feeling this way at all about her._

He can’t finish explaining. After a while, Rize sighs, and then yells. The phone rattles.

“ _Calmato,_ Haise-kun,” Shuu says. “What is she now — a freshman? Maybe a sophomore? She shouldn’t be in this class. And Kamii is a tremendous school. I would be personally _shocked_ if you ran into her during the short time you’ll spend on campus.”

Haise doesn’t answer. There’s more rattling as Rize wrestles the phone back.

“Come on, Haise,” Rize she says, softly, and somewhat out of breath. “We’re really in a pinch here. Please? Shuu and I can trade you a favor, if you like.”

“Happily,” Shuu adds in the background.

Haise smiles, faintly. That could be nice. But... “I don’t need that. It’s alright. I’ll do it.”

He barely hears Rize’s sigh of thanks.

:::

 _I'm not going to see her,_ he tells himself, though he isn’t sure whether he’s trying to reassure or argue.

_I'm not going to see her._

He takes a deep breath, and makes himself leave without checking the mirror.


	2. Chapter 2

Really, she shouldn’t be in this class.

But, despite her high placement scores, she couldn’t convince her advisor to let her skip over any more courses. So, here she is. Treading water. Waiting for time to pass.

As usual, Touka is early. (Literature classes are the only ones that she’s early for — it’s a habit that she can’t bring herself to fully accept, much less shake.) As the hall fills up, she slides a book out of her bag and reads it inconspicuously on top of the course’s assigned text. This is how she spends the majority of this lecture: reading silently, barely looking up as the professor drones on and on.

The class has been going through a guest lecture series, which has thus far been incredibly boring, and so her heart is completely unprepared for when today’s guest lecturer clears their throat and says, “Good morning, everyone. I’m —”

_That voice._

Touka’s head snaps up, so fast that her short hair whips around. The motion catches the lecturer’s eye, and his gaze slides up, and meets hers.

Just as it did during her confession to him, time stretches. All the blood in her body slows to a honeyed crawl. She can’t breathe.

“I’m...Sasaki Haise,” Sasaki-sensei says, with a cough. He looks away from her, and bows to the class, breaking the spell. “Pleased to meet you. Now, let’s begin.”

How is this possible? Is this really happening? How is Sasaki-sensei _here_?

It’s been over a year since she’s seen him — over a year of studying hard, and re-reading the books they read together, and trying in vain to have more than one date with any one person. Sometime in the recent weeks she’d finally come to feel like her feelings were starting to cool. But seeing him here — _here_ —

Maybe it’s because he’s in a university now, and not just a high school. Or maybe it’s just because _she’s_ the one in university. In any case, he seems so much different than she remembers — so much _more_. More mature, more intelligent.She can’t stop herself from watching the way his fingers move as he gestures, the way his eyes scan behind his glasses as he speaks.

Unlike everyone else in this room, she _knows_ him, she knows him specially, she knows his love for coffee and his weakness for puns, and her chest swells with a strange, saccharine pride.

How is it possible for her to feel like this? Even after more than a year? Even after he rejected her, and left her alone? How — _why_ —

Touka’s hand clenches on her desk. She closes her extra book.

She missed him. And now, for just a little bit, she’s his student again.

The recent subject matter has been about the motif of lost children, and Sasaki-sensei picks it up effortlessly.

“Does anyone know of any modern works that are reliant on ‘lost children?’” he asks, and Touka’s hand shoots up.

Sasaki-sensei sees her — he _must_ — but his gaze goes all around the rest of the room first, seeing if there are other takers. There aren’t. The rest of the class is too startled; this is the first time all quarter that the sophomore bumped up into their class has volunteered anything, much less looked up from her desk.

“You,” Sasaki-sensei says, nodding his head at her, and Touka answers, “Takatsuki Sen’s _Dear Kafka._ ”

“A great example,” Sasaki-sensei says evenly. “Can you give us some more detail?”

_It’s by your favorite author. It’s the last book you gave me. You drew a rabbit in the inside cover, right underneath where you wrote my name._

“On the surface, it’s about a child who’s forgotten the way home,” Touka says. “But the theme is about how to feel like you belong.”

“About what it means to fit into communities,” he elaborates with a nod. “And how meaningless life is without.”

He starts to pace back to the other side of the room.

“I don’t know about that, sensei,” Touka calls.

His head turns back towards her. “Oh?”

“Even though _Dear Kafka_ implies that it’s best to have people with whom you belong, there’s also a sense that you’ll never come to properly appreciate that feeling of belonging unless you also know what it means to be a little ’lost.’”

His eyes light — she can practically see it from across the room. Is he flushing as well? His mouth opens and it’s the exact expression that he gets when he is about to launch into excited discussion — but then he takes a breath. His lips close, into a simple smile.

“That’s excellent,” he says, and turns away again. “Anyone else?”

If Yoriko were here, she could save her. As it is, Touka can’t help herself. She answers every question that Sasaki-sensei will let her, and always with open-ended statements or connections to other books that she knows are his favorite. She relishes watching him squirm as he struggles to stay on topic, though at the end of it all he succeeds, mostly.

It must be obvious to the rest of the class that something is up, but she doesn’t care. After the lecture is over, she exits into the hallway, and waits, and when Sasaki-sensei finishes answering questions and walks out, his face turns toward her, as if he knew she would be there. For another eternity they stand there, waiting.

He’s so close. If she just stepped forward a little, she could hug him. She could bury her face into his coat, into that coffee-tinged scent of his —

She fists her hands firmly at her sides. She can’t, she can’t, she can’t.

But there’s so much, at least, that she wants to say. Like, _I’m over you, sensei, I promise._

And, _Could we please get coffee sometime?_

“Sasaki-sensei,” Touka starts, and then stops. His expression is kind, but not like it used to be — it seems stiff, and shallow, like he’s facing a stranger. She feels an abrupt stab of panic.

_Did he forget about me?_

“Great work in there,” he says. “You have fantastic insight.”

“Th-thank you,” Touka says. She shifts her weight from foot to foot, and then tries again. “Sasaki-sensei —”

“Yes, Kirishima-san?”

 _Kirishima-san._ Not _Touka-chan._ It feels like being punched in the face. She reels.

“I-it’s nothing,” she manages quietly. “I guess...just...long time no see. It’s...um...good to meet you again.”

“Yeah,” he says after a while. “It’s nice to see you too.”

He steps toward her, hand lifting. For a moment she has a vivid image of him placing that hand on her cheek, cradling her face, bringing her mouth to his — but of course, none of these things happen. His hand rests on his chin, rubbing lightly.

“I’m really sorry, but I need to go.”

“R-right. Of course. Goodbye,” Touka says, before he can say it to her first. She is almost turned away from him when he blurts, “Wait — just — just one thing.”

“Y-yes?”

Sasaki-sensei bites his lip, and then rummages around in his messenger bag. He withdraws a handful of novels, and rifles through them before selecting one and holding it out to her.

“Here.”

“You’re...giving it to me?”

“I’m...well, it’s not supposed to be...” He sighs. “Well, yes, I’m done with it, so I guess you can keep it. It’s not that I...I mean...I just think that you’ll like it.”

Touka reaches out and takes it. Their hands brush — a millimeter, a millisecond. And then he is bowing his head, and saying “Goodbye,” and she is doing the same, and she is stopping herself from running back to the privacy of her dorm room, stopping herself from slamming the door. She sits on her bed, breathless.

She has homework to do. And studying, probably. But for a long while she just clutches the book against her chest, waiting for her heart to calm, waiting for her breath to catch.

The book is still fairly new — the binding snaps a bit when she opens it. She traces her finger on the writing on the inside cover: _Sasaki Haise._ She stares at it, for a little too long.

And then she turns the page, and starts reading.


End file.
